


Ineffable luck

by send_help_immediately



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Caring Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gabriel is a dick, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Please don't shoot me, Sick Aziraphale (Good Omens), Sickfic, first good omens fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:20:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21970819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/send_help_immediately/pseuds/send_help_immediately
Summary: Aziraphale finds himself horribly unwell for the first time after Gabriel takes out his frustration on him, and it won't be miricaled away.  It's a good thing his favorite demon is there to take care of him.or:A sickfic for the sake of a sickfic because they're my favorite and I'm trash.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 120





	Ineffable luck

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This is my first fic in this fandom so constructive criticism is welcome, and sorry for any discrepancies between my writing and Good Omens - I'm new to this fandom but fell in love with the characters a few episodes in!
> 
> It's only short, but the following chapters should be longer, sorry.
> 
> Also if anyone has any prompts, that would also be great :)

“Crowley…” The angels voice trembled slightly, not steadied by the breath he dragged in through his nose. He had called the demon as a last resort, once he’d realized that he couldn’t stumble his way back to the bookshop on his own, nor could he miracle his way out of this one. This was bad. Really bad. Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he had done to upset Gabriel, but this was surely a punishment from the Archangel, for nothing else would hurt this badly. “Please, can you come get me?”

Crowley frowned down the phone line. The frightened, pleading note in the angel’s voice unnerved him, and he fumbled to turn down the Bentley's stereo so make sure he hadn’t fabricated it, Mercury’s voice drowned down to a whisper. “What’s going on, Aziraphale?” 

Aziraphale’s words choked in his throat, tangling with his stomach contents as he fought not to vomit. “Please, Crowley. I think I’m ill, I-” he had to cut himself off, bile rising in his throat as he clamped his fingers over his lips. The park in front of him swirled into a nauseating blur, his knees weakening as he fell onto a park bench. His stomach cramped, forcing a tortured whimper between his teeth, and he doubled over to rest his forehead against his knees. 

“Ill?” he asked incredulously. “You’re an angel, Zira, you don’t get ill.” Still, barely a second after the words had left his mouth, he heard the angel gag, another pitiful plea reaching Crowley’s ear. The sigh that escaped was more of a hiss. “Where are you?” he relented. It wasn’t like he had been doing anything of particular importance anyway, merely cruising through town, draining a few car batteries and shortening a few tempers, just enough to meet his quota for down below. He tempted a group of highschoolers into shoplifting as he reversed the Bentley, just for good measure. 

The angel mumbled the park’s name, burying his head in his hands as he hung up the phone. Who would have thought that a simple walk through town could have ended so badly, ended with Aziraphale curled up on a park bench with a puddle of vomit at his feet. Tears bubbled over at the thought, his cheeks rubbed pink as he rubbed them away. “Hurry, Crowley,” he mumbled to thin air. 

.

.

“Aziraphale! I’m here, Angel, look at me.” Crowley had haphazardly parked the Bentley across three consecutive parking spaces, kidding himself that it was purely to piss some people off and not because he’d caught a glimpse of a very sorry looking Aziraphale. He fought to keep his tone soft, devilish rage threatening to overcome him. “Who did this? I swear to-” 

Zira felt another wave of nausea rising in his throat, his stomach rolling and twisting like a painful snake squirming in his abdomen. As if it were possible, he doubled over even further. Crowley’s firm arms stopped him slipping forward, closing around his shoulders, gentle kisses against his temple. “Please take me home,” he pleaded. More tears stung his eyes, a throbbing pressure behind his skull. 

The demon took in his obvious embarrassment, too worried to be amused by the angel’s shame, and slide his arm under his lover’s knees, the other against the small of his back. “Just don’t vomit on me, Zira.” 

He nodded without hearing him. “Love you, Crowley.” Talking scratched his throat into a jarring cough. It was all he remembered before the deep burning in his muscles consumed him and he passed out with his head on Crowley’s shoulder.

.

.

Aziraphale work up under a mound of blankets, a foul taste in his mouth and a pounding in his head. Arms were locked around his middle, hands gently teasing the tight knot in his abdomen. His breathing hitched in his throat, a soft kiss against the back of his neck helping to calm him again. 

“It’s alright, angel, it’s just me,” Crowley murmured, molding his body to the shape of his love’s. “You’re not well, Zira, don’t go moving. Just rest.” The angel’s fever was keeping them both wonderfully warm, making it too easy for Crowley to sleep through his concern. He’d all but dragged his partner home, tucking both of them into bed in the apartment about the bookshop. Aziraphale had slept for hours, and he hadn’t dared to wake him, dreading seeing pain on his angel’s face again. It wasn’t until an almost inaudible whimper slipped from his unconscious form that Crowley slipped between the perfect sheets, his chest against his lover’s back as he held him closely. 

“...feel so sick, Crowley,” he whispered. His lips felt rough and cracked as his tongue flicked out across them. Every joint in his body ached, swallowing causing a fire that rushed from his throat to his gut, threatening nausea again. He wanted to tell the demon, to warn him, but he was scared of vomiting again. Sweat beaded on his forehead, plastering his hair to his face and destroying his usual curls. 

“Shh, I know,” he cooed. His comfort was cut short as Aziraphale wrenched away, doubling over the side of the bed to vomit onto the floor, his body shuddering as he panted for breath. “Aziraphale, it’s okay,” he soothed, slipping his hand under his partner’s shirt to massage gentle circles into the small of his back. His free hand came around to brush his hair from his face. “This started today, hmm? You haven’t been sick without telling me, have you angel?” 

Zira let himself be guided backwards by gentle hands, finding himself lying with his hand in Crowley’s lap, calming fingers fidgeting against his scalp. “I’m sorry, my dear…” 

A little sickened by the smell of the vomit, Crowley miracled away the mess, leaning down to brush his lips against his angel’s forehead. “It’s really no problem, angel. Go back to sleep.” 

“Sleep?” he questioned wearily. Part of him suspected his demon might flea, and the thought of his not being there when he woke up made his eyes sting with tears.  
“Yes, Zira, sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”


End file.
